


Denial of Little Things

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dom/sub, Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-22
Updated: 2006-07-22
Packaged: 2018-10-27 17:58:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10813944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: There's nothing that Remus wants.  Nothing at all.





	Denial of Little Things

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Written for [Merry Smutmas 2005](http://community.livejournal.com/merry_smutmas) for [PansyDarkBloom](http://pansydarkbloom.livejournal.com/). **Warning** : bondage, non-graphic collared breathplay, and prostitution in a werewolf brothel.

* * *

This isn't the dirtiest place he's worked. It's not even the dirtiest place he's lived. He's had to earn his keep before, and there are worse ways he could be doing that than flat on his back. Hell, he's even bisexual and doesn't have a problem with bottoming. 

Things could be worse. 

Remus shifts on his rumpled pallet and leans over the side to grab the pack of cigarettes he nicked after a trick, left behind by one of the johns. He's gratified when he finds a matchbook tucked into the cellophane wrapper, and he takes the time to enjoy it as he strikes a match, lights a fag, and inhales deeply, thinking about how he's always had a liking for odd smells: lit matchsticks, petrol, the lingering mothball odour that clung to his Muggle father's button-down cardigans, latex as it's ripped from tiny squares, and, of course, the metallic tang of blood. 

_That_ , at least, he shares with every other person here. This is just a stepping stone to joining Fenrir's pack; if you want to play with the alphas, first you have to lie down with dogs. 

Smoke curls through the air, hazy, dream-like. He tells himself that all he does is for the greater good, just one more sacrifice in the fight to rid the world of Voldemort. They all have to do their part, and this is his. 

He exhales and thinks of the Prewetts, of Amelia Bones, of James and Lily, of Albus, of Sirius. Thinks of Nymphadora and Harry, about how they're still alive, still _out there_ , and how they need him in here. 

Remus Lupin is a whore, a spy, and a member of the Order of the Phoenix. 

He takes a long drag, paper and tobacco disappearing into ash and smoke. 

Things could be much, much worse. 

 

***

Generally speaking, Remus is much too old to be a rentboy. The word, of course, includes the word 'boy' and all that implies, so if this establishment engaged in a standard bit of trade, he'd make more money mopping up fluid than producing the stuff. But this is hardly a normal establishment. 

The clientele is almost completely male, and all are fascinated by dominating magical creatures even if it's only for a few hours. On the surface, it seems to be about power, about those who have it and those that don't. Remus thinks a latent bestiality kink might also be involved, but there's really no way to prove that hypothesis, and it's better they're taking out their aggressions on people who work there semi-voluntarily as opposed to their house pets. 

Even within this very odd subset of tricks, Remus is in high demand; he's almost a celebrity, a fact that's caused him no end of amusement. Everyone seems to know his former association with the late, pardoned Sirius Black; they all know he was once part of the Hogwarts faculty; and they all know he betrayed the people who once followed Dumbledore in order to become part of Greyback's pack. He's requested a lot, and those men are divided almost evenly between two groups -- one that wants him to pay for what he's supposedly done, and one that wants to reward him. 

He likes the former group better, even if they don't know he's really on their side. The humiliation is more honest somehow, and a cock up his arse is the same either way. 

 

***

"Lupin!" 

Reynolds, the overweight bloke from reception, ducks his head into the dormitory. Remus raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement. 

"There's someone requesting you," he tells Remus. 

"I'm not on duty." With shifts that can stretch on for fifteen hours, minus meals and showers, he's learned to be protective of his free time. 

"Big money," says Reynolds, leering. "The kind no one would say no to." 

Considering Remus is one of the resident celebrities, it really must be an exorbitant sum. Not that he's there for the money, but he feels that if he has to earn it, he should take advantage of every Knut he can. 

He pulls himself to his feet, and he and Reynolds climb the short flight of stairs and wind through the labyrinth of corridors that lead them to the entrance. 

As soon as they get there, Remus feels as though he's seen a ghost. 

"J--" he starts, then stops himself suddenly. 

A man around nineteen or twenty leans casually against a wall, one hand jammed into the pocket of the Muggle suit he wears. The clothes don't look quite right on him, like the suit is new or, more likely, like he's had few opportunities to wear Muggle suits before, but his body is appealing in the leanly muscled sort of way that only young men can hope to achieve by accident. His eyes are hazel and impassive, and he peers at Remus through a curtain of dark (but not quite black) and messy fringe. He doesn't wear spectacles, and his skin (including his forehead) is smooth. 

In short, he's not the type that looks like he needs to go to werewolf brothels. The fact that he's in disguise because he's the leader of the other side -- of Remus's side -- doesn't even figure into it. 

_Harry._

Remus immediately schools his expression into a neutral one. 

"Mr Lupin," says Harry blandly, pushing himself off the wall. "Nice to finally meet you. Your reputation is near legendary, and I thought it was high time I got to experience it firsthand." 

Remus allows himself a small smile, the only thing he can do when all he wants is to shout _What's going on? You're putting yourself in danger!_ "I hope I can live up to your expectations, Mr...?" 

"Evans." 

"Evans," Remus repeats, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "Is this your first time here?" 

Harry smirks. "No." 

It takes some effort to suppress his shock, but Remus manages. Whatever Harry is doing, he'd taken pains to make everything look legitimate -- relatively speaking, at least. 

"Good," says Remus. "I can skip my introductory speech, and we can get right down to business." Reynolds snorts at that, a reaction Remus can understand; the two of them sound like shopkeepers ready to head into Gringott's and take out a small business loan, not fucker and fuckee. But niceties must be observed. Remus gestures toward the back. "After you." 

Harry goes ahead while Reynolds presses a key into Remus's hand. It's the VIP suite, so Harry's apparently forked over a small fortune for discretion and privacy. 

Quickly, he catches up with Harry's brisk pace, trying not to be unnerved by the fact that Harry knows the way. "What--" he mutters. 

"Later," hisses Harry, cutting Remus off. 

_Later? ...After?_ Remus wonders. _He can't possibly be planning to-- though all signs seem to point that way. Perhaps more than niceties must be observed._

Suppressing a frisson of mixed fear and anticipation, Remus leads Harry upstairs. 

 

***

"What--" Remus tries again the second they're inside. His reply comes in the form of Harry slamming the door and slamming Remus against the back of it. He's leering, palm flat against Remus's sternum, and Remus notices that Harry has grown again in his absence, now drawn up to James's full height. It's a bit unnerving to realise that Harry is now like his father in yet another way. 

Harry leans in, supposedly to bite Remus's ear, and whispers, "Paid for quiet, but you know they can always watch us, Professor." 

"You can't rightly call me that anymore," says Remus, moving his mouth as little as possible. 

This time, Harry really does bite his ear, and the strength of Remus's resulting gasp surprises him. "Suppose you're right." 

"So?" Remus fights to keep his voice steady, which is harder to do than it should be, what with Harry's long fingers flicking open the fastenings to Remus's patched robes. 

"So, things are falling into place, moving faster now--" 

_No kidding,_ Remus thinks as Harry's tongue makes a broad sweep across his collarbone. 

"-- and I'm going to have to confront Voldemort again. I'll destroy him this time, Remus. For good." 

Remus suddenly remembers he's supposed to be with a client, and reaches up to pull the knot of Harry's tie loose. His fingers fumble over the buttons of Harry's dress shirt as Harry shrugs out of his jacket and shirt, and pushes Remus's robes to the floor. "What do you need me to do?" asks Remus, gasping as Harry winds a bare arm around his waist and presses them together. He kisses Remus soundly then, something that few clients want and something that Remus allows even less often, and for a moment the floor drops out from under him. 

He is a spy in a werewolf brothel, being kissed by his former student. Being kissed by his dead friend's son. Being kissed by the future saviour of the wizarding world. Being kissed by someone twenty years his junior. Being kissed by someone with a warm body, broad shoulders, and an eager tongue. 

He's being kissed by someone, and trying desperately to remember if he's ever enjoyed it quite this much. 

Harry pulls away, his lips swollen and pupils dilated; Remus can't help thinking that the effect would be even nicer with Harry's actual eye colour. "If Voldemort's dead," says Harry, panting still, "that does nothing about his followers. Can you think of anyone here who would be sympathetic to our side?" 

"A revolt?" Remus pauses and allows Harry to pull him to the bed. "It's possible..." 

Harry unfastens his belt and starts in on his fly, grinning when he notices Remus watching him. "Good. Take your time, though. No need for anything overt yet." Harry's trousers hit the floor with an audible _clink_ , distracting Remus from formulating plans. Now is now, and there'd be time enough for that later. 

Now is time for him to do his supposed job. 

Remus perches on the edge of the bed, and Harry leans down to capture another kiss, planting one knee alongside Remus's bare thigh. This one is sloppier than the last, though no less exciting. Remus finds himself getting painfully aroused, more aroused than he can remember being in God-only-knows how long, and wonders if he's getting off on the guilt. 

To distract himself, he splays his hand against Harry's belly and slides his fingers into Harry's pants, palm pressed against smooth, warm skin, hard for him already and a bit damp at the head. _Harry Potter's cock. James's son's cock_ , thinks Remus, distantly. 

He watches as Harry's eyes fly open, their gazes locking in the same way their mouths already have, and Remus catches a glimpse of nervousness, of anticipation. For all of Harry's posturing, _this_ is familiar and even more of a turn-on, and that's a line of thought Remus needs to stop _right now_. 

This time, Remus breaks their kiss. "How should we do this?" 

"Oh," says Harry. He looks dazed, but after a moment shakes it off. "We can just pretend, if you'd like. You know-- er, simulate it." 

Remus shakes his head, and his fingers tighten unconsciously around Harry. "We're doing this," Remus says. "You'll need to come back, won't you?" 

Harry nods, then makes an odd, breathy noise as Remus strokes him again. 

"Then we'll make sure that there's no doubt. That you'll be able to come back as often as you need to." _That I'll be able to see you,_ whispers a dark corner of his mind. 

There's a strange expression on Harry's face, but he only nods again. 

 

***

They fuck on the bed, Remus folded almost in half, his legs hooked over Harry's shoulders. The position is bad for his back, but the mattress in the VIP room is better than anything he's slept on in years -- not that he's thinking about sleep at all. 

Harry's face is interesting to watch; the mix of emotions there is mingled pleasure and guilt and determination, and Remus wonders if that's reflected in his own face. Their rhythm isn't even, and with every thrust, Remus feels his head getting closer and closer to the headboard; he expects his erection to wilt when he finally makes contact with the wood, but the burst of pain makes him gasp, and then gasp again when Harry does it more, harder. 

They speed up, Harry drilling him into the mattress as Remus lifts his hips again and again, and the obscene, irregular slapping sounds they make are hotter than they have any right to be. 

As Harry's breath quickens and his moans grow louder, he manages to wrap his hand around Remus's cock. He doesn't stroke, exactly, but lets the force of his thrusts propel his hand forward, then back again. 

The sounds Remus makes are embarrassing; he thought he was far too old for this sort of desire, and a shudder of guilt works its way down his spine. 

" _God_ ," mutters Harry, and that guilt is erased, leaving Remus a sticky, trembling mess. 

Remus lets his legs slip from Harry's shoulders, and Harry collapses on top of him, drawing in desperate, needy gasps of air. They stay that way for a moment until Harry blinks, notices his surroundings, and pulls out with an odd sucking sound, leaving Remus feeling strangely empty. 

Harry swallows and lifts himself off the bed, stumbling a bit on shaky legs. He pulls off the condom and tosses it into a nearby trash bin before grabbing a wad of tissues and handing half to Remus. 

"Kind of funny that not allowing magic in a magical establishment makes them resort to Muggle things, isn't it?" Harry asks. 

Remus wipes away the mess congealing on his stomach. "Not funny, really." 

"No, I suppose not," he concedes. "Just something I noticed." 

"We don't have a lot of time left," Remus observes. 

Harry bends down to retrieve his discarded clothing; Remus is content to watch for now. "Enough, I reckon. I'll bring you information as I have it, and request your services exclusively. Maybe with enough money, I can make it so you're exclusive to me, too." He sighs and buttons his shirt up. "Remus, I'm so sorry that we've been doing this to you. It's been so long, and I-- I really didn't have any idea--" 

"Shut up, Harry," says Remus, not willing to hear empty platitudes when his arse hurts. "Someone had to gather information, and what's done is done, so let's finish it already." 

Harry nods. "Yeah. Yeah, okay." 

"Do you have a time frame?" 

"Not yet. There are...certain things that need to be destroyed first. Once that happens, everything will move very fast, but...well, it's complicated, needless to say." 

Remus finally starts moving, finding his pants and robes. 

"I'll come as often as I can." 

What Remus wants to say is, _Haven't you done that already?_ What he does say is, "It's good to see you." 

"You, too," says Harry, letting out a long sigh of what might be relief. 

They walk out together, Remus trying to be as seductive as his personality allows, purring hopes that Mr Evans will come back as soon as he can. 

"He's certainly an animal," Harry tells Reynolds, throwing a lascivious wink in Remus's direction. 

"We pride ourselves on that," Reynolds says. 

 

***

Men and women both stay in one dormitory. The reasons for this are twofold: one, they're all supposedly forming pack bonds, and Fenrir has pushed it into all of their heads that power is genderless, and two, there's really not such a thing as shame among sex workers. Besides, Remus is particularly unaffected by a naked body or two no matter what bits they have when he's spent his whole day getting fucked. He suspects that's true of everyone else, too. This is why he decides to start with the women; he finds them more sensible on the whole, and many of them can only be considered Voldemort sympathisers because of their association with Fenrir. And he thinks at least a few can be trusted to keep secrets to themselves. 

Paige is young, eighteen or nineteen at most. She never attended Hogwarts because she was bitten by a werewolf when she was six, and instead of being blessed with parents that protected her from the monster that did it to her, they gave her to him to raise. With just a trace of bitterness in her voice, she'd explained that they no longer considered her human, let alone their child. So, the werewolves of Fenrir's pack raised her as an almost communal child, and when she was old enough, she chose to prove herself worthy to her surrogate father. From what Remus has gathered, she's hardly the only one in this situation. 

Speaking with Paige is risky because Remus isn't sure whether she loves or hates Fenrir for what he's done to and for her, but he does know she regrets having never been magically trained and that she hates transforming once a month, no matter how she grew up. 

Remus offers her one of his last cigarettes and sits on the pallet next to hers. 

"What do you want?" she immediately asks, sounding suspicious, but not all that hostile. Curious, perhaps. 

"Have you ever thought about getting out of here?" he asks, leaning over to light her fag. 

She smiles, and it's a pretty smile, but there's no spark in her eyes. "Of course. I'd like you to find one person who's thrilled to be in this place." 

"But there's precedent to be observed?" 

"Exactly." She inhales, then coughs, and grins sheepishly. This one is more sincere. "Sorry. I don't smoke often." 

Remus smiles back, drawn in by the strange mix of innocence and experience. "Why?" 

"Why don't I smoke?" 

"Why is there precedent?" 

Paige shrugs. "Because Greyback wants us to prove that we're worthy, and this is a pretty damned good way of finding that out. Besides, once this is done, it's done. We're in for life." 

"Hmm," says Remus thoughtfully, taking his own drag. He blows out two smoke rings, proud that they're both vaguely circle-shaped, especially since Paige looks impressed by this accomplishment. "Haven't you ever wondered what else is out there, other than being in a pack? At least I'm old and have lived a bit." 

"And yet, you're still here. Didn't you sell out your friends to work for Greyback?" There isn't a person here who doesn't know Remus's cover story. 

"I did, but..." Remus sighs, puts on his most innocent expression and stares at the floor. "Can you keep a secret?" 

Paige nods. "If I like you." 

"Do you like me?" 

"Well, you have a little bit of a creepy uncle vibe--" Remus chokes on an exhale "--but considering the blokes I see most days, you hardly rate. So yes." 

Remus nods, and decides to go for it. "I'm wondering if I made a mistake. I saw someone the other day who offered to let me have my life back, to go back to the other side." 

To her credit, all Paige does is raise an eyebrow. 

"This person wanted to know if anyone else here would be interested in it, too. Told me not to think of it as getting away from the pack, but getting away from Vol-- You-Know-Who." 

"Greyback's a Death Eater," says Paige in a flat voice. "We all know that, but it's not like the Ministry will ever let us live normal lives." 

"Especially not if we're all dead because we were on the losing side." His voice is too flippant, he knows, but Paige is shifting uncomfortably, and Remus knows he's struck a blow. "There are more sides than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the Ministry, you know. What about Harry Potter?" 

Paige snorts. "The goody two-shoes saviour boy? Listen, You-Know-Who has been back for years now, and the hero hasn't done anything about that yet." 

"He is only twenty, you know. And the Dark Lord...well, he's been around a lot longer than that. How about we make a deal?" 

"You give me those cigarettes, and we'll talk deals," says Paige, stubbing out her cigarette on the floor. 

Remus smiles and hands the packet over. "I thought you didn't smoke?" 

"Maybe I want to start," she retorts. "Talk, Remus." 

"If Harry Potter defeats Voldemort, follow me, all right? I'll make sure you stay safe." 

She snorts. "Yeah, like that's likely." 

"We'll see," says Remus, standing up. "Anyone else here who you think would want to make a deal with me--" he jerks his head at the fags "-- send them my way, all right? Not limited to just cigarettes, either." 

_It's a start_ , he thinks, making his way back to his own pallet. _Bribery's not very honest, but it's definitely something._

 

***

Remus tries to pretend he hasn't been counting the days to this, but it's hard to do when he's tied spread-eagled to the bed as a naked Harry braces the headboard with his knees planted on either side of Remus's ribcage, leaning forward just enough to slide his cock in and out of Remus's mouth. 

Actually, 'slide' doesn't accurately describe what's happening here. Harry is _fucking_ Remus's mouth, and the attempts Remus makes to keep up only result in obscene slurping noises, a tightening of his bonds, and Harry's increasingly vulgar encouragement. 

"Oh, God, you've got a fucking great mouth on you," pants Harry, thrusting so far forward that Remus nearly gags. "Bet you were a born cocksucker, weren't you? I know you like taking me deep...I bet thinking about it keeps you up at night, whore." 

Later, they will pretend that this is all a show for the people that monitor Remus's activities, and Remus will privately wonder why Harry bothered talking at all when no one can hear them, but now...now, his cock is impossibly hard, and he wants to move, wants some damned _relief_ , wants to rip free of his restraints and grab Harry by the arse to take him even deeper, wants Harry to fuck him so hard that his brain leaks out of his ears. 

Hell, his brain is halfway there already. 

Remus sucks harder, and both of Harry's arms spread outward, long fingers wrapping around the ties securing Remus's wrists and pulling, further limiting Remus's movement. 

_Oh,_ he thinks, feeling the head of Harry's cock push down his throat, hard shaft pressing against his tongue. Remus desperately tries to gulp for air, but only succeeds in swallowing Harry again, and just as his vision begins to blur and darken, Harry lets out an absolutely shameless moan, shudders, and comes, his release hot even through the layer of latex that's made Remus's mouth go numb. 

Harry pulls away with a groan, and Remus somehow manages to clear his throat and start breathing again. He's startled to feel tears welling up, dampening his cheeks, but that realisation does nothing to deter the ache between his legs. 

This is the third time Harry has come to see him, and Remus has found himself thinking about the sex more often than the exchange of information. 

Remus draws in a laboured breath as Harry pushes sweaty fringe off his face and plucks a bottle of lubricant from the table next to the bed. He watches as Harry opens and upends it, pouring a generous amount into the palm of his hand before he throws the bottle aside. 

"You look like you need some attention," observes Harry, addressing Remus's erection, which seems to strain toward Harry at the suggestion. "Not just yet, though." 

He dips the fingers of his other hand into the palmful of lubricant, reaching up to trace a slow circle around one of Remus's nipples, fingertips drawing closer and closer to their intended target. 

Remus gasps as Harry grasps skin between slick thumb and forefinger, twisting and rolling, switching back and forth between nipples as Remus's raspy cries grow increasingly desperate. He tries moving his hands and feet, which are slowly going numb, and only manages to flex his fingers and toes. 

He fixes Harry with a sharp look. "You like doing this." 

A flash of what might be surprise, or guilt, or something else entirely passes over Harry's features, but he doesn't answer right away, choosing instead to reach down to Remus's cock and sliding too much lubricant over hypersensitive skin. 

"You like it, too," Harry says, stroking too slowly and not squeezing hard enough for relief. 

Remus answers by lifting his hips off the mattress as best he can, feeling the ties chafe at his wrists and ankles. 

Harry shoots Remus a sharp look of his own. "Maybe too much?" 

"Nnngh," is the only reply Remus allows as he pushes up again. He stares at a silvery, jagged scar on Harry's chest that he's somehow acquired in the last week; focussing on that is the only way he can ignore the throb of arousal that makes his blood pump too quickly and feel too hot. He can almost smell his own blood as it races through his veins, reminding him of nights with the moon hanging high and full in the sky. 

"It's not fair when you don't answer," Harry says, a hint of the wicked smile he wore the first time Remus saw him as 'Evans' twitching at the corners his mouth. "I think you like things rough. You were probably closer to coming when I was choking you with my prick than you are now." 

Remus is too far gone to keep the shock off his face -- not at the suggestion, but that Harry is able to read him so easily, and even more that Harry dares say it out loud. His lips are still numb from before, and he can still feel the way the press of Harry's legs constricted his ribcage. 

Harry starts stroking him faster, one hand pulling at his shaft, the palm of the other rubbing the head. Everything is so hot and slick and Remus just needs a little _push_. He moans and restlessly turns his head from side to side on the pillow. 

"Do you think about me fucking you when I'm not here?" 

" _Har_ \--Fuck, just let me _come_ ," Remus begs. 

Harry smirks and plunges two fingers inside Remus's body, sliding in time with the hand wrapped around his cock. He twists both hands and whispers, "Come." 

And Remus does, as though he has a choice. He shoots so hard, so much that white lines decorate his stomach and chest, straight up to his shoulder, but he also somehow manages not to scream out anything he'll regret later. 

 

***

Afterward, Harry unties the binds and stretches out on the bed, pulling Remus's lax body close to his. He rubs his hands over the red markings on sore wrists, and Remus pushes his face into the hollow of Harry's collarbone, though he resists the urge to lick the skin there. Even curled into Harry's arms that way he is, that feels too intimate, like it doesn't fit into their ruse. 

"How are things going here?" Harry asks, his voice low and head bent so his lips just barely tickle Remus's ear. 

Remus breathes in, inhaling Harry's scent as he once would have stolen cigarettes. "Well, I believe I've got something underway, though I think I might need bartering items." 

"Items?" 

"Mmm," says Remus, lifting his head. "Cigarettes, sweets, books maybe. I'll most likely know more about it next time you see me. But definitely cigarettes and sweets...clients bring that sort of thing for their favourites all the time, so as long as you don't bring along a trunkful, it should be fine." 

"Bribery?" Harry's voice is mild, more curious than accusatory. 

Remus shrugs. "I do what's necessary." 

Harry nods. "That's obvious." 

"And..." Remus hesitates, lifting a sore arm so his hand can just hover over the new, unmasked scar on Harry's chest. "Where is this from?" 

"Ah. Uhm, I can't tell you until it's over." He closes his eyes, as though he can shut Remus out just by doing that. "But it means progress-- something dark is gone for good." 

Remus knows that means Harry's one step closer to killing Voldemort, so he doesn't press the issue. "Do you have anything else for me?" 

"Er, yeah," Harry says, sounding embarrassed. He sits up suddenly and bends down to gather his clothes. "Tonks wanted me to tell you that she's all right, and she understands why you have to do this." 

_Nymphadora..._ The time Remus had with her feels like a lifetime ago. "I knew she would. She can be rather sensible when she wants...I think that's her Auror side." 

"Yeah. She's-- well, I admire her, even though I--" Harry looks away as he begins to pull on his trousers "-- I find it hard to look at her because of..." He coughs. 

Remus wrinkles his brow. Everything feels so complicated, but those are the hazards of war. 

"Anyway, she was on her way to the Burrow to see Ginny when I was leaving." 

Another name from another life. "And how is Ginny?" 

Now it's Harry's turn to scrunch up his forehead. "Complicated." He laughs mirthlessly. "I think-- I don't think any of us expected the war to go on as long as it has, and the things I've needed to do haven't exactly thrilled her. Not just...not just this, but she's in the Order now, and I think she expected me-- us--" Harry pauses, looking lost and young for once. 

"To pick up immediately once she finished school?" 

"Yeah. She figures since she's waited for years, and she's putting herself in danger anyway that it wouldn't matter that-- but." Harry looks like he's on the verge of an outburst and is only reining himself in because keeping quiet here is important. "She should stop waiting. She'd be in much more danger being with me than not. And there's no way this plan -- you and me -- could work if I was with someone else." 

"But this is just a ruse," Remus reminds him. 

Harry pauses to pull on his socks and shoes. "Yeah, I guess." 

 

***

It's after lights out, and the dormitories are dark. Business hours run late, so usually everyone drops to sleep as soon as they're able, but tonight Remus can hear whispers. 

He's been reliving the day's events over and over-- reliving the press of Harry's skin against his, the delayed gratification that felt better than anything immediate he could provide himself. His throat is still sore, but instead of the pain that makes him resent the customers, his body wants more of it, and not knowing when he'll get another chance to see Harry again disturbs him. 

Everything about this situation disturbs him, frankly. 

Remus rolls onto his side and hears the words "Harry Potter" murmured from across the room; he wants to pull his thin blanket over his head to mute the noise, but he hears the words "Death Eaters" and "overthrow," and decides to keep listening. 

Two young men are speaking; from what Remus recalls, they're friends of Paige, brought up in circumstances very similar to hers. There are too many people here with similar stories. 

"I heard he told Scrimgeour where to shove it when Dumbledore kicked the bucket." 

Remus smiles. It's nice to hear true gossip passed around for once. 

"The Minister for Magic!" the other replies, shock evident by his tone. "And if we say we'll help Potter, we can get things?" 

"Yeah, Paige says we just have to talk to...to him. There, sleeping." 

"I'll think about it," the other one says after a moment's hesitation. 

_It's been too long, but the end is in sight,_ thinks Remus, before rolling over and falling asleep. 

 

***

The floor is hard and probably scraping skin from his knees even through his robes, but Remus is more worried about his aching joints and the fact that he knows he can't get hard this time without jerking himself off. Some blokes don't mind that, but this one is a hair-puller and seems to be getting off on making Remus as miserable as possible. 

Still, he lets Remus use his hand to help his mouth along, and he's clean and willing to wear a condom, even during a blowjob. 

Remus repeats the mantra that's kept him sane: _Things can be worse. Things can be much, much worse._

Reynolds bursts in, startling Remus away from his task. The staff _never_ comes in when he's with a client -- it's just not done. 

"C'mon, Lupin. You're off-duty." 

The customer balks. "I paid an arm and a leg for this one, you know. Do you think that Galleons are found at the end of rainbows?" 

Remus snorts quietly at this, still on his knees; Reynolds looks unimpressed. "You'll be compensated, sir, both in refund and in trade." Sure enough, a skinny boy Remus knows only by sight stands in the doorway. 

The man only grunts, but nods, and Remus can see why -- the lure of young flesh is strong, even if you've paid for time with the house celebrity. The boy stumbles in, and Remus stands, redoing the top two fastenings on his robes as he goes. 

"Aren't you curious?" asks Reynolds with his usual leer. The man leads Remus back toward the dormitories. 

"I would be, if I didn't already know you would tell me." 

Reynolds lets out a raspy chuckle. "Maybe for that I won't." 

Remus merely raises his eyebrows, something he finds himself doing around the staff rather often. 

"Ah, hell, Lupin. Your services have been exclusively reserved for thirty days. For a pretty penny, I'd be willing to bet." 

"I'd bet that, too," Remus murmurs. _Harry..._ "So, who is it?" 

"That Mr Evans character that's requested you his last few times. Though, God only knows what a rich young kid like that sees in you." 

He thinks, _Well, that's one thing we can both agree on_. He says, "Do you know when I'll see him next, then?" 

Reynolds shrugs. "With that money, I s'pose that's up to him, ain't it?" 

 

***

There are murmurs that Fenrir Greyback is on the premises today, and Remus can pick out the mixed fear and admiration hidden in the whispers. He mostly feels annoyance. 

Chambers, one of the security guards, corners Remus on the way back from the loo. "Fenrir wants to speak with you. Now," he adds helpfully. 

With a nod, Remus allows himself to be led upstairs, fervently hoping that Fenrir hasn't discovered Harry's identity. He's far more worried about Harry falling into a Death Eater trap than for his own safety, and he shields his mind from any potential attacks. Remus doesn't believe Fenrir is a Legilimens, but he has no way of knowing who or what else will be waiting for him and he knows that one can never be too careful. 

"Lupin," Fenrir greets. They're alone there, and the door snicks shut behind Remus. Fenrir looks as he always does: hulking and slightly deranged, ill-fitting robes stretched across his frame, nasty grin curled on lips that frame yellow teeth. Remus imagines his breath is fetid, and has his suspicions confirmed when Fenrir steps closer to him. 

Remus is lucky he's good at controlling his emotions because not many would be able to cover up the revulsion he feels. "How are you?" he asks, ignoring the bile rising in his throat. 

"Oh, the same as ever," Fenrir replies, sickening grin still in place. He gestures to one of the two high-backed armchairs seated near the room's fireplace; Remus sits because he wants to seem agreeable. "I hear _you're_ doing very well, though." 

"Am I?" He just barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. 

"Mmm," says Fenrir, lowering himself into the other chair, and reaching over to pat Remus's knee. "Thirty days reserved for one man's exclusive company, is it?" 

Remus nods. "I imagined that went through your approval first though, didn't it?" 

"Oh, of course. Everything's on the up and up here, Lupin." Fenrir laughs, the sound low and thick. 

"Then there's no problem." 

Fenrir bares his teeth once again, and Remus knows it's meant to intimidate him. "No problem at all. You've brought in more than your fair share of Galleons since you decided to...join the winning side." 

"Did you want to speak to me about something else, then?" It didn't _seem_ like Fenrir knew Harry's identity or about Remus's efforts with the other werewolves; perhaps this was just about stroking Fenrir's ego. 

"No time to visit with your old friend?" Fenrir pouts at that, and the effect is disturbing. He laughs again, and Remus shakes minutely at the sound this time. "All business, all business. If you don't have time for...fun with old Fenrir, then let me simply commend you for the excellent service to this organisation." 

Remus blinks at the ridiculousness of that statement. "Thank you." 

"Because you _are_ a part of this organisation, Lupin, and your time of service is nearly complete. Don't forget that no matter how many young punks may be interested in you for short periods of time, no matter whether or not they consider you private property, you _belong_ with me-- with us, the other lycanthropes. How else will we make a better world?" 

_By killing you_ , thinks Remus savagely, but only lets a small smile twitch at his lips. "I believe in a better world." 

"I made you, Remus," says Fenrir, eyes narrowing. "Remember that, too." 

Remus doubts he'll ever be able to forget. 

 

***

"I have a surprise for you," Harry tells him, and Remus can't help but smile. 

"Do you now?" 

Harry hasn't been here very long, but he's already loosened the knot of his tie, and his face is flushed for reasons Remus can't quite determine. All he knows is the look is a frighteningly attractive one, and it makes his fingers itch. 

"Well," Harry begins and ducks his head, and Remus finally recognises the look as embarrassment. He tries to put Harry at ease by taking a step closer and kissing him, letting their tongues slowly tangle together, a languid exploration -- a reacquaintance -- of mouths. This step isn't in the script, but Remus can't help being compelled. 

When they finally break apart, Harry is panting, and Remus's is struggling a bit for breath himself. 

"It's a surprise for this...this thing between us-- to make it look more authentic," Harry continues, once he has his breath back. 

Remus's stomach twists, strangely apprehensive. 

Harry reaches into his suit jacket, and pulls something out. Remus's apprehension is apparently justified. 

"A collar," says Remus, flatly, taking it from Harry and turning it over in his hand. 

"Because I bought you-- er, your services exclusively! Just so everyone would believe it," says Harry hastily. "Plus..." He ducks his head again. 

"Plus _what_?" There is annoyance creeping into his voice, and _that_ annoys him even further; Remus doesn't like the way Harry can so easily manipulate his emotions, and has done so since Harry was thirteen and begging for extra defence lessons. 

"I thought it-- well, the last time I was here, you seemed to really like it when I was...er, over you. Then, after, when I got you off-- you liked me in control then, too." 

Remus bites the inside of his mouth. "Did I?" he asks, his voice cold. 

Harry blinks at him, apparently registering the change in atmosphere. "I thought it could be fun." 

"You thought it could be fun," repeats Remus. "You thought that since I'm stuck in a werewolf _brothel_ because of you, and you've _bought me_ now and I'm your property, that I'd like being collared like a _dog_?" 

Stung, Harry shook his head. "I-- I can take it back. I'm sorry." He reaches for Remus's hand, but Remus pulls it back. 

"This isn't...real, Harry, and I can't play your bitch! Your godfather's _dead_ ," snaps Remus, regretting the words the moment they're out of his mouth. 

Harry gapes. "Do you think I wanted _Sirius_ this way?" 

"You're not supposed to want _me_ this way!" Remus says, raising his voice. 

Harry closes his eyes tightly and rubs his palm across his forehead. "Never mind. This isn't worth the hassle! Do whatever you want," he says, storming toward the doorway, though he pauses with his back to Remus, shoulders sagged. "You liked it, Remus, no matter what you say. I'll see you in two days." 

The door slams behind him, and Remus pushes away worries over how Harry will explain this brief visit. He fingers the collar between his thumb and index finger, feeling the material against his skin. Swallowing hard, he lifts it to his nose and inhales deeply, smelling the leather mixed with the scent of Harry's cologne. 

_Denial is so very, very tiresome,_ Remus thinks, knowing it's all he's ever known. 

With a deep breath, Remus wraps the collar around his throat and fastens it into place. 

 

***

Paige approaches him that night, bringing one of the boys who he overheard whispering about him a week ago. 

"Hullo, Remus." 

He smiles. "Paige." 

Paige's eyes suddenly settle on his neck, but to her credit they only flicker there for a moment. "This is my friend, Luke," she says, gesturing at the boy. Luke returns Remus's smile, nervously, and glances at Paige. "We-- we had an idea about what we need." 

Remus tilts his head to one side. "Oh?" 

"Could you get us magic textbooks?" Luke blurts. 

Paige rolls her eyes at Luke's outburst. "Yeah. Like...like they use at Hogwarts. Charms...and, er--" 

"Transfigurations?" suggests Remus. 

Luke and Paige both nod. 

Just as Remus had suspected, that lack of magical training left the young people of Fenrir's pack feeling slighted. "Did you know I used to be a professor?" he asks, smiling again. 

 

***

Later that night, Remus finds himself once again restlessly turning over the day's events in his mind. Much unrest surrounds him, and he thinks of the people willing to defect from Fenrir's pack, how their numbers appear to be growing. He thinks of Harry and he tries not to touch his throat, but the collar fits so well against him that he needs to do it, simply to confirm its existence. 

 

***

When Harry returns he acts more like a student ready to be chastised than the person he's been every time he's visited Remus. Remus catches him darting nervous glances in his direction, but Remus wastes no time in getting Harry into the VIP suite. 

"Re-- Remus, I just wanted to apologise. I didn't mean--" 

"Fuck me," interrupts Remus, closing the door 

Harry sighs and pushes his hair out of his eyes. "I don't want to leave things up in the air. We can't ignore--" 

Remus shakes his head, pulls his collar aside to show off the ring of leather circling his throat. "I was the idiot. And now I'm an idiot who ne-- wants you to fuck him." 

Shakily, Harry reaches out and traces his fingertips over the edge of the collar, brushing against Remus's skin in the process. He inhales sharply at even that light touch. 

" _God_ ," Harry says, watching as Remus starts to unfasten his own robes. 

Remus spreads out on the bed, and beckons, knowing he can get away with this wanton display under the guise of their deception. 

" _God_ ," says Harry again, and it seems it's all he can manage as he hurries to strip out of his suit, carelessly throwing clothing around the room. He jumps onto the bed between Remus's spread thighs, displaying all the enthusiasm one would expect at his age, leaning down to press his mouth to Remus's. 

The kiss is desperate, sloppy, and though Remus tries not to read too deeply into it, it seems like Harry's trying to tell him something that he can't put into words. They both hiss loudly when their cocks brush together, and it's only a matter of moments before Harry is grinding down while Remus arches up to meet the movement. He feels giddy, stupid, like a man half his age, and he can't stop himself. 

Remus breaks away, tipping his head back and groaning when Harry's tongue drags across his throat, and when Harry kisses him again, he tastes of leather, tastes of the collar, and Remus needs _more_. 

"I need you inside me," Remus says, and he knows that reveals too much, but he's already too far gone to care and Harry is already reaching out, fumbling for lubricant and a condom. "Don't use your fingers first." 

Harry stills at that. "But--" 

"I don't need it!" insists Remus. He just needs Harry, and he needs him now. 

In his haste, Harry has trouble opening the package, almost hurts himself trying to put the damned thing on and slick himself with lubricant, and Remus thinks, almost says, _I can't wait until you fuck me when we can use spells,_ knowing damned well that may never happen. 

But the thought is driven from his mind as his legs are shoved farther apart, and Harry is rocking, moving, inching his way inside Remus's body, _fucking_ him the way he wants, he needs, the way he can't stop _thinking_ about. 

Harry leans over him and moans, slides out, shoves in, reaches up to touch the side of Remus's face, to draw his fingers over Remus's lips, down his throat to touch the collar again. Remus shivers, reaches up, covers Harry's hand with his own. 

"Use the collar," he says. "Use me." 

Harry blinks, startled and suddenly off his rhythm. "I-- I can't hurt--" 

" _Do it_ ," orders Remus, adjusting the ring so the buckle is at its front. "You want to. I need it. _Please_." 

There's a split-second where Harry shakes his head, but his hand is already wrapped around the end of the collar, pulling it tighter when his hips pull back, letting it slack when he slams in. 

And Remus stretches his neck, makes it taut to cut off the most circulation, to bare his throat, to let Harry know that _Harry_ is the one in charge of this situation as he gasps for air, gasps for more, gasps for _Harry_. Remus shoves one hand between their bodies, pulling on his own cock, fingers tightening and relaxing as he struggles for air. 

It's exciting, it's glorious, and as Remus's vision darkens and sparkles, he's damned glad the hold Harry has on him means he can't say exactly what he's thinking right now because he there's no way he would have been able to hold it back otherwise. And then he's coming with a strangled sound ripped from his vocal cords, painful and perfect, wet heat splattering his stomach and Harry's chest. Harry collapses a few seconds later, immediately releasing his grip on the collar before he pulls out with a wince and a groan, and stretches out alongside Remus. He lets Harry gather him up into his arms, still dazed and flying from the unexpected brilliance of his orgasm. 

"I'm not going to need the rest of the month," whispers Harry, pressing a gentle kiss to Remus's forehead. "I promise to get you the hell out of here." 

 

***

Five days go by where Remus hears nothing. On the fifth day, a package arrives carrying sweets and a note that reads, "The rest is on its way." 

He shows the note to Paige. 

"Harry Potter killed You-Know-Who," she replies. "I just overheard Reynolds telling one of the guards." 

Remus collapses on the bed, inhales shakily, and tries to give himself a moment to gather his thoughts. He doesn't get one. 

"Official Auror business!" shouts a booming voice, just outside the dormitory door, and Remus can _hear_ the struggle with the guards. 

Remus looks around at the gathered workers. "Everyone's safe here. I'm able to protect you." Many fearful faces look back at him. 

A shock of pink hair frames the doorway, her wand out. Remus unconsciously touches his collar. 

"Oh God," says Tonks, and Remus smiles sheepishly. 

"These are all innocent people," Remus assures her, even though that's not expressly true -- some of them do support Fenrir, he knows, but they're unarmed and Tonks at least can recognise reason. 

The workers are all led outside, and for some reason, someone puts a blanket over Remus's shoulders. Remus looks around at the chaos, hopes fleetingly to see Harry, but doesn't. 

Tonks is there, though, smile as bright as her hair. She presses a mug of hot chocolate into his hands and murmurs, "Wotcher, Remus." 

"How are you?" he asks. 

"Tired." Tonks always can be counted on for saying what's on her mind. "You?" 

"Tired." They smile at one another. 

Tonks runs her hands through her bright shock of hair, making it stand straight up and reminding Remus of Harry. "He did it for good. Every piece of You-Know-Who's soul's been blown to kingdom come." 

"You're sure about that?" 

"Yes. As if we didn't know Harry could pull it off." 

Remus knows he wasn't always sure, but he hoped -- and his hopes often lead to disappointment; he's glad that didn't happen this time. "How is Harry?" 

"Alive, I know," says Tonks. "Dazed, I imagine. I haven't spoken with him yet." 

"What happens to these people?" 

Tonks shrugs. "You tell us everything you learnt while you were there, and who was willing to work with our side, and anyone who's not done anything goes on with their normal lives." 

Remus isn't sure he knows what that is anymore. Doesn't know if he ever did. 

"You, too," she says seriously, resting one small hand at the crook of his elbow. "You can live the way you want -- get a chance at a normal life." 

There's that word again. Remus manages another smile, and hands Tonks the mug without having taken a sip. She wanders off to talk to one of the other Aurors on the scene, and Remus touches his throat again. 

He remembers Harry's mouth and hands, his fingers, the way he broke Remus apart and put him back together again. 

Normal. He looks at Tonks, grinning and taking a statement from a boy who looks like he can use Remus's hot chocolate. 

So this is his chance. 

_Normal..._

That's not what he wants. 

Remus touches his throat again, and thinks of a Harry without his glamours, of the two of them meeting without their ruse. 

Not anymore, if that's what he ever wanted. And Remus doesn't think he's alone in that. 

**END.**

 


End file.
